


Jason and Levi go on a Date (wow)

by CaravanOfCrows



Category: Original Work
Genre: Boys In Love, First Kisses, Fluff, I cannot stress this enough, M/M, POV Levi, boys in stupid more like, i wanna go on a dinner date, im really tired, levi and jason go on a dinner date, thats why I wrote this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-22 10:48:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20872934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaravanOfCrows/pseuds/CaravanOfCrows
Summary: its past my bedtime





	Jason and Levi go on a Date (wow)

“Ah,” Jason says, pressing a finger to my lips. “I haven’t earned that yet.” 

It’s so ridiculous I have to laugh. “What do you mean?” 

“We haven’t even gone on a date yet,” he says, as if that makes perfect sense and explains everything. 

“… so, no smooching?” 

He giggles but trains his face back into a facsimile of seriousness. “No smooching.” 

“But…” I pout, “But I wanna.” 

“So do I. But I’m not gonna treat you the way everyone else does.” He smiles, warm and reassuring. “You’re worth something, Levi. You’re worth courting, worth waiting for. You’re more than just your body.” 

He’s going to… court me? Something about the idea of that makes me very, very happy, though I don’t know why. I’m still a bit bummed about the no kissing thing. “But when… can we smooch.” 

“Dinner date,” he replies immediately. He’s obviously thought about this. “We have to go on a dinner date first.” 

“Then let’s do that! Now.” Right now. Let’s do this dinner date thing and then I can kiss him. It’s a marvelous plan. 

He laughs, but it’s not mean. “Levi, it’s the middle of the night.” 

“Is this like, a time sensitive thing? Do we need the healing power of the sun?” 

He laughs again, but he stops when I don’t laugh with him. “Oh shit, you’re serious. Levi do you not know what a dinner date is?” 

“Well, I know what a date is. And I know what dinner is,” I say weakly. 

“But do you?” 

“No,” I admit. 

“A dinner date,” he explains, “Is when two people who like each other romantically… go and get dinner together. Or make dinner. But it’s usually at a restaurant. It’s romantic. You just sit and talk and get to know each other better.” 

“But I already know you!” I protest. 

“Do you know my middle name?” 

I open my mouth to answer, but the thing is: I don’t. It’s never occurred to me to ask. 

“It’s Lee,” Jason says, grinning, “Now, about this date…” 

“Do you know what a dinner date is?” I ask Eli over the phone. 

“Sure,” he says, “It’s where you go and eat dinner and make moon eyes at each other. I don’t get it. It’s like, supposed to be romantic or some shit.” 

Eli knew? Eli doesn’t even date. You don’t, either, a voice in the back of my head tells me. No matter. I’m gonna win this fucking date thing. 

When I tell Eli as much, he bursts out laughing. For about a minute and a half, he laughs so hard he can’t answer. “Levi,” he gasps, “You don’t win a date.” 

“Sure, I do. I win and then he pays for the food because he lost.” 

This sets Eli off again, this time he drops his phone. “You are… so oblivious,” he wheezes, once he’s picked it back up, “Gods, I would pay money to see this date go down.” 

“You’re being mean.” I pout, as if he can hear my facial expression over the line. Who knows, maybe he can. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice full of mock repentance, “I’m sure your date will be lovely.” 

“Whatever.” 

I’m nervous. Why am I nervous? This is stupid. It’s just Jason, and it’s not like we haven’t had dinner before. The fluttering in my stomach doesn’t seem to care. Butterflies, Eli called them. Said it was normal or some shit, not like he would know. Gods, I don’t know what I’m doing. I need advice. Hale may not be my best option, but they’re the only person in my friend group who’s ever gone on any actual dates. 

what should i wear? 

They text back almost immediately. the black blazer. the hot one. and the striped blouse. 

i’m not trying to kill the poor boy, I protest. 

let him perish, Hale replies. if you don’t wear that outfit ill kill you and then you’ll both be dead and ill have to explain your deaths like some kind of modern day benvolio 

I laugh. Hale has a point, it’s a good outfit. It’s cute, and masculine, and “proper.” I don’t know what constitutes proper date attire, but it seems close. By the time I’m done getting dressed I still have forty minutes until Jason is supposed to pick me up. I spend nearly all of it messing with my hair. Combing it with my fingers; flipping the way it’s parted; trying to get it to lie flat. When Jason knocks on my door it still looks exactly the same. Messy, unwieldy. Not proper date attire. It’s too late to do anything about it now. 

Jason stops dead in his tracks when he sees me. Like he can’t believe his eyes. “Wow,” he breathes. He smiles, and it warms me to my core. 

I can see why Hale wanted me to wear the striped blouse. Jason’s shirt has pinstripes too. We match. I’m absolutely sure Hale orchestrated this but… 

But we match. Like we’re a set, like we go together. I suppose we do now, if we’re dating. Are we dating? I’m not sure. I’ve never done this before. Gods, what if I mess it all up? 

“You ready to get swept off your feet?” Jason asks, extending a hand to me. 

“Hell yeah.” Determined to seem more brave than I am, I take it. He intertwines his fingers with mine, stilling the slight tremor. 

“You’re gonna be okay,” he reassures me, like he can see through my façade. He squeezes lightly, and I squeeze back. I could get used to this. 

“Where are we going?” I ask as Jason pulls me out the door. 

He smiles. “It’s a secret,” he singsongs. “We’re walking,” he says, when I try and go towards his car. “It’s such a nice night, I figured why not?” 

He’s right. It’s clear and warm, and I can see the stars thrown across the velvet sky. We talk of nothing, our hands still intertwined between us. The streets are dark as we wander through the city, lit only by the cream-colored fairy lights that wind around the trees. Music wafts from street corners, lilting saxophones and crooning voices. I could live in this moment forever, wandering endlessly, never reaching my destination. 

All too soon, we stop at a restaurant. It’s quiet, with a few couples chatting at the tables. It strikes me that we’re a couple now, too. 

Jason leads me to a table outside. He pulls his chair around to sit next to me. A waitress comes to ask if we want any drinks. I order a Pinot Noir. Jason gets a Sprite. He moves his chair back so that he’s facing me, sitting forward with his hands folded like he’s in a business meeting. “So,” he begins, with an air of ridiculous authority, “Mr. Casper. We are here today to discuss very important matters.” 

I giggle, and he glares at me. “I’m very sorry, Sir,” I say, muffling another giggle behind my hand. 

“As I was saying, we are here to discuss matters of the utmost importance.” He gestures grandiosely to the menus. “First matter of business: food.” 

The waitress comes back with his soda and my wine. “What can I get y’all?” she asks us. 

Jason orders in what is actually a rather convincing British accent. I can’t help but laugh, just a little. 

“What are you laughing at?” he asks, still in that stupid accent, “This is how I talk. Levi you’re being very rude. Levi don’t you know how hard it is for us Brits? How far we’ve fallen?” 

I put my head down on the table cloth. “I'm very sorry, Sir,” I repeat, my voice muffled by the coarse linen. 

Jason orders for me as well, something that I'm pretty sure isn’t even on the menu. When I look up, he’s leaned back in his chair, watching me with a smirk. It takes me a few seconds to realize he’s drinking my wine. 

“Hey!” I sputter, “That’s mine.” 

“Not anymore,” he says evenly, “You can have the Sprite.” 

I grumble, but I do like Sprite. Maybe it’s for the best I’m not drinking tonight. He raises his- my glass is a mock toast. “You have very good taste in wine,” he comments. 

I raise the Sprite right back. “To handsome, charming, dirty thieves,” I say. 

“Cheers. I’ll drink to that, love.” 

And if that word doesn’t mean something totally different now… 

The food here is very good. I’m not quite sure what it is Jason has gotten me, but I like it. After the food comes we settle into a more normal conversation, though normal is relative. Jason asks ridiculous questions, and I ask even more foolish ones. 

“If someone gave you a tub of 10,00-year-old honey and said it was good to eat, would you?” 

“Of course not,” I wrinkle my nose, “That’s a piece of history. If someone had eaten it when it was only 100 years old, it wouldn’t be around to be discussed.” 

“I thought you wouldn’t eat it because you don’t trust strangers,” Jason teases. 

“That too.” 

Its strange, being sober. The world is so clear, nothing hazy or fogged over. Everything is so much more casual, so much easier. I like it. Some part of me still itches for alcohol, though. I hardly know what to do with myself without a drink in my hand. 

Jason, on the other hand, is having no such issues. This is his third glass, I think, and while he isn’t fully drunk he’s definitely a little tipsy. He keeps giggling at everything. It’s very cute. If I wasn’t sober I wouldn’t get to watch, and that wouldn’t be half as fun. 

I suppose, begrudgingly, I’m grateful he stole my wine. Only a little bit though. 

“Cats or dogs is too simple,” I muse, “Birds or saltwater aquariums?” 

“Aquarium,” he answers instantly, “though I suppose a bird could be nice. But, aquarium. No competition.” 

There's a light behind his eyes, now. I forgot how much he loves fish. I smile into my soda. 

“What would you put in it?” 

I manage to keep Jason talking for what has to be at least fifteen minutes straight. He’s animated, talking about salinity and temperature and compatibility and how he’d really like to keep these two fish together, but it could never work; it just wasn’t meant to be. Eventually, he quiets. 

“I’m sorry,” he says sheepishly, “I’ve been talking a lot and you’re probably annoyed with me.” 

I don’t know how to convey the swell in my chest from seeing him look so happy about something. I could listen to him talk like that for hours, days on end. 

I grab his wrist from where it sits on the table in front of me, enfolding his hand within mine as though the sheer physical contact can embody the depth of my love. “No, please,” I say, “Go on. I love hearing you talk about these sorts of things.” 

He turns away and, shit, is he blushing? I didn’t know he could get flustered. This opens up a whole new avenue of intrigue. I sit forward, resting my chin on my hand. Perhaps instinctively, he leans back. 

He is wise to be afraid. 

“No, really,” I say, “You light up the whole room.” 

He hides his face behind his hands. “Stahp.” 

“Gushing about how amazing you are and how much I love you? Never.” 

“Levi,” he whines. 

I squeeze his hand and, even as he pouts, Jason squeezes back. “I love you,” I singsong. 

He groans. “I love you too,” he says. I grin. 

I’m still grinning when the waitress brings us the bill, which Jason takes before I can even look at it. “I lost,” he says, in answer to an unspoken question, “I have to pay.” 

It doesn’t seem worth it to argue. We get up to leave after the waitress comes back a final time. 

“I hope you’re not too drunk to find your way home,” I joke. 

“I’m not,” Jason says, as he leads me back onto the street, “But I’m definitely too drunk to drive. I guess I’ll have to stay the night.” 

I almost offer to drive him home, but that’s not the point of what he said. It’s an invitation, an open-ended possibility. I can only begin to imagine all the things it might mean. The walk home is mostly quiet, Jason leading me by the hand again through the maze of city streets. All too soon, we’re back on my street. He leads me up my driveway, tension now hanging thick in the air. This is hardly the first time the air between us has gotten this loaded, but it is the first time I’m sure something might come of it. 

“Jason,” I say, pulling him to a stop in my living room. He turns to me, raising an eyebrow. 

“Hmm? What is it?” He puts his arms around my waist, standing far closer than would be socially acceptable between friends and far farther than I want him to be. 

“We went on our dinner date-” I start, not quite knowing what to say to get what I really want from him. 

“How was that?” Jason asks, like he has no idea what I’m trying to get at. Maybe he truly doesn’t. Maybe he’s just fucking with me. “Did you have fun?” 

“Yes,” I huff, “But it’s over now and I was thinking-” 

“Have you been swept off your feet yet?” he interrupts, grinning. He has got to be fucking with me. 

“Yes, thoroughly,” I say, “Now can you please just-” And then he’s kissing me. 

Jason tastes like honey and sage and stolen pinot noir. I laugh when he pulls away. “You were right,” I murmur, “I do have good taste in wine.” 

He laughs too, before he pulls me back in.


End file.
